create_destiny

Dear Michael Stipe:

Yeah, so you have some new French photographer boyfriend who is 17 years younger than you. Who cares? I certainly don't, because look at his freakin' shoes!!! I'm sorry, but are you his lover or his social worker? There is just no excuse for a gay man to be wearing bad shoes like that, especially in Manhattan. And to be photographed in these shoes!?! Why, Michael, why? When am I going to be one of the three women for every seven men you are attracted to? Are you going to write songs about his shoes, now? Do you have some kind-of velcro fetish or mentally-challenged fetish? Because I can be so very mentally-challenged. You should see how I dance and fall in parking lots. I can also let some type of crusty fog build up on my glasses if that turns you on.

Whatever. Screw you. I'm happy for you. You better marry this one.

Call me if you need a gaybee mama. But do it quick because my eggs are about to expire. My rates are low, especially if we skip the turkey baster and do it the old-fashioned way.